One Good Pony

by Winged Anomaly

Rating: teen
Tags: Dark, Sad, Gore, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 6478

The Harvester Engine revolution turned Manehattan into an ugly place, and for one cop who wants nothing more than to do her job, things are only getting worse.

Author's Note: This story takes place in the world established by several of my other stories, specifically Harmony's End and Steampony. This story is very much standalone, but I don't go into much detail about the world here. If you want to know more, or want to see more of Whitefire, feel free to check out Steampony. Also, this story is getting on in age, I only just now thought to post it - I'm aware it needs a fair bit of work, particularly on its *very* weak beginning.
Anywho, carry on!
-Winged

The Harvester Engine. This miracle machine made life for most ponies a breeze - harnessing Unicorn magic and using it to generate steam, it has made electricity and automation not only practical, but commonplace. It seemed perfect - a glorious industrial revolution from which all could benefit, until it became painfully clear that not everypony would. The Unicorns suffered the greatest blow, as the Harvester Engine could harness magic as efficiently as any caster, but the damage was not reserved to them alone. Earth Pony labourers were suddenly penniless as machines stole their jobs, and even the Pegasi, now a rare sight following the devastation of the Harmony's End War, found themselves replaced by sophisticated aircraft and industrial-scale weather manipulation machinery.

With unemployment skyrocketing, quality of life plummeting, and unrest at an all-time high, large gangs and criminal organizations have emerged from the chaos and seized control. As time progresses, their poisonous claws snake into more and more, even corrupting the diligent Manehattan Police Force... and leaving Detective Whitefire feeling like she's the only good cop left on the streets.
But soon, even her shining example of a record will find itself stained by these hard times.

Published 2013-01-16 13:30:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-01-16 13:30:01 UTC

One Good Pony

One Good Pony
Ken Atkinson

“Celestia's bones, Whitefire. Your aim sucks.”

“Stuff it, Silicon.”

I sighed, turning the revolver over in my hooves. It was something about using just ONE gun that screwed me up.

“Let me pull out Number Two, and you'll have something to put in the history books.”

Silicon shook his head.

“You know the rules; one gun. Just because you've got some unnatural ability to put a round in each target within half a second so long as you're using two guns doesn't mean you get special treatment.”

“Also means I'm going to fail firearm certification,” I growled, snapping the cylinder shut on Number One and trying to hold it steady as I sighted down the first target. Again. The weapon went off with a crack, and the bullet ripped through the wooden plank's shoulder. Silicon nodded.

“Nice shot – if the objective were to incapacitate.”

“Not necessarily,” I said, halfheartedly defending myself as I replaced the bullet, “A pretty major artery runs through there. Hit that and the target bleeds out in minutes.”

He just laughed to himself, and checked off another in the 'miss' column.

“Whitefire, you know you don't have to do this. Why do you let Silicon torture you, year after year?”

I started and turned to where the Manehattan Police Chief stood, a half smile on his face.

“Feels a little like I'm skipping out if I don't bother, Sir.”

Silicon paused, then nodded.

“I was wondering why they let you carry a gun, even though you fail every year.”

Chief nodded to the course.

“Pull out Number Two; let me see it again.”

A slow grin spread across my face as I loaded my second revolver.

“With pleasure, Sir.”

I carefully took note of the position of each target, while Silicon moved to the exit with a sigh, dropping the clipboard on his way.

“Here we go again.”

I took a deep breath and a firm grip on my pistols... and then, I flew. Without pausing, without even thinking, I snapped from target to target. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. I took a deep breath and blinked; each of the five targets had a smoking hole, straight through the head.

“What's my time?” I asked, suddenly out of breath. Chief was just shaking his head.

“Under a second. I don't know how you do it.”

I smiled a humble smile as I unloaded and holstered my weapons.

“Neither do I, Sir, but chances are, I'll find myself with only one gun one of these days. You know how Manehattan is, better than anyone I'd wager.”

He nodded, and started for the exit.

“The range is open as long as you need her; just lock up when you leave. Oh, and try to get some sleep, Whitefire. You're one of our best; we need you in top shape.”

“With all due respect, Sir,” I replied as I unholstered Number One once again, “I'll sleep when I can shoot straight under my own power. Streets are rough these days.”

***

I stumbled into my apartment really, really late. Or was it early? Hard to tell. I sighed as I hung up my jacket and took off my holsters; while my incredible skill with dual pistols had certainly earned me a lot of recognition and saved my life more than once, it had always frustrated me to an incredible degree. When I actually thought about shooting, when I focused, set my stance, aimed, and pulled the trigger, I missed. I was slowly getting better, but something in me knew, knew that one of these days, I'd find myself trapped in a situation where lives rested on my ability to shoot true with one gun in two hooves. I'd grabbed a bottle of bourbon and settled across from the TV when the phone started ringing off the hook. Growling to myself, I jumped up and lifted the receiver.

“Whitefire,” I said, trying to sound functional, “What's up?”

“Detective Whitefire, this is Dispatch. You're needed urgently at the scene of a crime.”

Well, I was awake now.

“Right. Where's my partner?”

“En route.”

“Location?”

“Alley next to Barlan's Books, Weston street, between Ninth and Tenth.”

“Nature of the crime?”

“Triple equicide.”

“Fuck,” I muttered to myself, “I'll be right there.”

Good thing I'd stayed up at the range; waking up that soon after getting to bed would've put me in a godawful mood. I strapped my holsters back on and moved to grab my jacket, but decided against it. The early summer air was warm enough, and feeling the breeze always calmed my nerves. I was at the scene ten minutes later, my car's Harvester Engine slowly winding down, venting excess steam into the night air. Silver-Gray was already there; a tall, handsome Unicorn with a, surprisingly enough, silver-gray coat. He shot me a smile as I got out of my car.

“You look lovely, given the time of night.”

I laughed.

“You know me, Silver. I only look awful if I've actually been sleeping to begin with.”

“Nah, you're always gorgeous. Anyway, down to business – crime scene's this way.”

Many would interpret that exchange as overt flirting, but it wasn't - Silver-Gray was like a brother to me. He had gone after me romantically in my first weeks as a cop, but I made it clear very quickly that I was only interested in other mares. But instead of driving him off, like I'd expected the fact would, he because curious; wanted to know more about me, wanted to know what was like behind the label I so readily slapped onto myself. So I told him, and in kind, he explained himself to me. I'd never met a pony who opened up so easily, or who took such interest in the mundane things I said – so when they wanted to give me a female partner, I said no, and asked for Silver-Gray by name, because he was the only pony I knew who understood me inside and out, and who I was guaranteed would never try to jump me. We'd worked together ever since; for years, now. Sometimes I get a sense that he's sad we never became a couple, but I think we both know what value our friendship has had.

“Enjoying your reflection?”

I started with a laugh.

“Sorry, wandered off into dream-land for a bit there. What have we got?”

We rounded a corner, and I saw. Three ponies were slumped on the ground, all in a row in front of a solid brick face. Copious amounts of blood had been splashed on the wall; left to dribble through the brickwork and pool on the pavement below. I frowned as I approached.

“Execution?”

He nodded.

“My first guess too.”

“Not blindfolded, though,” I muttered as I circled the victims, “And they fell away from the wall, so they were facing the shooters. No marks of restraint, either.”

I turned to a patrol officer, who was standing nervously off to one side.

“You were first on site?”

She nodded mutely.

“Any info?”

“Well,” she said in a half-whisper, “I heard some shouting that I couldn't make out, then three shots... I got here as soon as I could, and everything's exactly as I found it.”

“Anyone else been on-scene?” I asked. She shook her head. I turned to Silver.

“Silver-Gray, check for powder burns on the victims. I'll look for shell casings.”

He nodded and moved up to the victims, while I turned on my flashlight and started to scour the ground. The street was cobbled, and roughly, so any casings ejected wouldn't have gone far, but I wasn't seeing anything...

“No powder burns, so they were shot from range... wait a sec. Hey, White, over here.”

I turned to Silver, and he was pointing at a single casing, left standing next to the first victims. I frowned.

“No way it landed like that; our shooter put that there.”

“Yup,” Silver said bluntly as he turned it over in his hooves, “Oh yeah, and he also wrote 'leave it' on the shell's side with a marker.”

“You can't be serious,” I said with a frown as I moved over next to him, but he handed me the casing. Sure enough... I shook my head in disgust.

“This may be Manehattan, but the Second Precinct has honor, unlike those uptown businessmen and lowtown state-sponsored drug dealers. We're not going to just abandon a triple equicide.”

I looked at the shell more closely.

“Thirty two magnum; very common.”

I glanced down to the victims.

“Doesn't match the wounds, though. Those are very small and precise; nine millimeter, I'd say.”

He frowned.

“So... we have nothing to go on.”

I shook my head.

“Look at the wall. The blood spatter is uninterrupted and the brickwork is entirely intact – the gunman didn't even try to extract the bullets. We get them out; see if we can get a match on the ballistic fingerprints.”

“That's a job for...”

“Forensics,” I said, nodding, “As is everything else on-scene. I'll radio it in, then we can get some sleep.”

I started for the car, but paused when Silver called after me.

“Hey, is there anyone waiting for you back home?”

I shook my head.

“Cayle left; couldn't handle being woken up time and again by me either coming or going on police business in the middle of the night. Come to think of it... she might've thought I was cheating.”

He smiled, and caught up to me.

“Then screw sleep. Let's grab some drinks.”

“Damn straight,” I said with a grin, “Knew I could always count on you.”

One hour later, it was four A.M., and we were just starting to get a bit of a buzz. The place was mostly deserted; a couple of ponies in the back were smoking a pack a minute and playing pool, one other loner was drowning his sorrows at the lonely end of the bar, and Silver and myself were making quite a bit of noise. The bartender didn't seem to mind, though – he probably liked company that said more than 'another' once in a while. I was happy there, in that moment, and it looked like Silver was too. In hindsight, I wish I'd had a few more of those moments - wish I'd spent less time at the range and more time giving myself a break. But I won't get that chance again for a long time, because a few minutes later, my life changed.

“We told you to leave it.”

The blood froze in my veins as I turned to the entrance. It had started raining outside, and there, standing like an old Western villain as the downpour thundered around him, was a towering pony in a heavy coat. As he stepped inside, light glinted from two oily-black pistols hanging from his hooves. His face was entirely concealed in the heavy shadows thrown by his popped collar and long flatcap. The bartender set down the glass he was toweling, and started towards our end of the bar.

“Do not interfere,” the stranger growled. The bartender didn't stop.

“Do you have a problem with...”

Blam. In the same amount of time it takes to blink, the stranger had raised his gun and put a bullet through the barkeep's head. His heavy body collapsed back against the glass shelving, sending the hundreds of bottles crashing to the floor in a deafening cacophony of sound. A casing struck the floor – nine millimeter. For a moment, nopony moved. The loner's jaw had dropped, the pool-players' cigarettes dangling from their lips as they stared in stunned silence at the towering stranger, who now slowly lowered his weapon. A moment later, the pool players charged, chrome revolvers drawn as they sprinted towards cover... blam. Blam. They collapsed to the floor like a ton of bricks, skidding to a stop in slowly spreading pools of blood. The loner took one look at the three bodies and screamed, running for the exit. The stranger made no move to stop him as he brushed past him on his way out. Then, it was just us... and I knew what I had to do.

“There's only one pony fast enough to beat that...” I whispered, ignoring Silver-Gray's panicked 'No!' as I got to my feet, letting my hooves rest on my two weapons.

“If you surrender,” the stranger said in his deep, guttural voice, “Your lives may be spared. Fight, and death will follow.”

I could tell he was looking straight at me.

“I don't recommend that, Detective Whitefire... unless, of course, you think you're fast enough. And even if you do emerge victorious, I can't speak for the actions of my compatriots.”

Deep breath, one, two...

A moment later, I opened my eyes. In my hooves were two smoking revolvers, empty. The stranger was frozen, his weapons half raised... then he collapsed to the barroom floor. Feeling cocky, I blew the smoke from my weapons, and holstered them.

“I do, in fact.”

Silence reigned for a moment, before Silver said,

“Wait, what 'compatriots'?”

My heart sank into my boots.

“OVER THE BAR!! NOW!!”

A hail of bullets tore into the bar as we vaulted over the low bar, taking cover behind its heavy wood panelling as what remaning bottles on the wall showered around us in fragments, clouds of wood splinters soaring into the air as at least ten, maybe more automatic weapons unloaded through the door and windows.

“STAY LOW,” I shouted over the gunfire, “AROUND THE CORNER AT THE BACK!!”

Silver nodded, and I reloaded my pistols... then, we ran. At least one of the gunners managed to get an angle on us, as bullets began to tear chunks out of the floor and paneling to either side of us, but we made it around the corner without incident... or so I thought. That was when I started to bleed.

“Silver,” I said quietly as the weapon fire died down, “I... I think I'm hit.”

“Shit, where?”

I looked down at myself. Blood was flowing freely from a bullet wound in my shoulder, and another in my side.

“Side and shoulder,” I said, gritting my teeth as the pain slowly settled in, “Neither critical. I'll be fine if we can stop the bleeding.”

“Bullets?” he asked, quickly checking back around the corner to assess the situation. I felt on the opposite side of each wound, swearing to myself.

“Still inside. Both.”

“We need to focus on getting the fuck out of here, the gunmen are moving into the bar. We'll go back to your apartment. Do you have medical gear?”

I nodded.

“Alright. Can you stand?”

“I think.”

“Alright. Here, lean on me, come on...”

I sucked in a sharp breath as the wound in my side screamed in pain, stumbling to my feet and leaning heavily on Silver's shoulder.

“Okay, plan. We go out the side, get in your car, and drive the fuck away.”

“I like it,” I laughed wryly, “Let's rock.”

“Okay, we run on three. One, two... three!”

Together, we sprinted for the side door as one of the gunmen rounded the corner behind us, shouting something unintelligible and putting a few rounds through the door moments after we'd passed through and exited into the side alley.

“Was hoping for more leeway,” I muttered to myself as we ran for my car, which was parked just inside the alleyway. Thank Celestia's eternal spirit I'd decided to pull into the alley rather than park at the curb. I wasn't ready when Silver let me go, and I collapsed weakly against the hood as I struggled to reach the passenger door. Fortunately, I managed to pull myself in and slam the door before the gunman entered the alleyway.

“Luna's tits,” Silver growled as he waited for the Harvester Engine to spin up, tapping his hooves impatiently against the steering wheel. It was a miracle of luck the gunman happened to be swapping magazines on his assault rifle when he burst through the door; even still, bullets were pinging from the bodywork and punching through the windshield by the time the tires of my car were squealing in reverse.

“Fuck,” I swore to myself, struggling to reload my revolvers with shaking hooves as we pulled onto the street with a harsh ninety degree reverse turn. Then we... stopped.

“WHERE THE FUCK IS THE GEARSHIFT!?”

I didn't even bother pointing, I just dropped Number Two and slammed the car into gear, starting as the vehicle jolted abruptly to full speed, bullets knocking chunks from the road surface and side windows as we made our noisy getaway. A couple of minutes later, we were clear, and I could hear Silver-Gray breathe a sigh of relief.

“Can't fucking believe this shit,” I growled as I lost my grip on my other pistol. I tried to bend over and fetch it from the floor, but the two bullet wounds chose that moment to make sure I remembered them.

“You know where my place is,” I gasped, trying to keep pressure on the hole in my side, blood slicking my coat, my hooves, and the seat, “Drive fast, please. I'm losing a lot of blood.”

The bar wasn't far from home, but as more and more of the car was stained red, the seconds seemed to stretch into hours. The world blurred as we rounded a corner; smearing across my vision like a child's fingerpainting. I could feel myself fading, feel my grip on consciousness loosening.

“Silver...” I whispered with some of the last of my strength.

He glanced over to me for the first time since we had got into the car.

“Fucking hell, White! Why didn't you tell me it was that bad!?”

“...can handle... myself... not my first bullet...” I slurred around my mouth, suddenly dry.

“Doesn't matter if its your first or your tenth, it can kill you just the same.”

We came to a stop a few moments later. Focusing my entire being, I opened the door and stepped onto the pavement, but my body gave out from under me and I collapsed to the street. The pain of the fresh bumps and scrapes was nothing against the ragged wounds, but even that was starting to be dulled by my weakness.

“Damnit, White! Don't give in on me! We're almost there!”

His words echoed to me, as if from a vast distance.

“I don't think...”

“Bullshit. Get up.”

I didn't even try. Without pausing for thought, Silver-Gray reached down and lifted me into his arms as if I weighed nothing. I remember flickering glimpses of walls as I faded in and out on the way up to my apartment, remember him kneeing my door in over setting me down. The heavy thud as I landed on the kitchen table stirred me for a moment, but soon, I was slipping again.

“You're going to wish you were unconscious in a second. Try to hold still.”

“Silver, what...”

Right. The bullets were still in. A moment later, the pain hit me like a freight train. I didn't have enough strength left to contain the scream. Or the tears, for that matter. It seemed to be an eternity before the first was out, and double that before the second... then, when I was finally free, I just passed out. Finally, relief.

***

I finally came to to the smell of cooking eggs. After a few moments, I remembered where I was and why. I glanced around – I was in my bed, nicely tucked in by the looks of it. When I checked the two bullet wounds, I saw they'd been cleaned, stitched, and bandaged quite professionally. Shoving back the covers, I stumbled to my feet... nearly fell, but the wall caught me like a dear. I was okay after that, shuffling groggily through the living room and into the kitchen, where to my complete and utter surprise, Silver-Gray was making breakfast.

“If I'd known you'd tuck me in and make me breakfast,” I laughed weakly, “I'd probably have slept with you the first time you asked. Always nice to wake up across from somebody who isn't glaring at you.”

“I see Sleeping Beauty's awake, at last,” he said, turning with a smile, “Don't worry about calling it in, I handled it. Chief told me to lay low, at least for now, and specifically mentioned to tell you to take it easy. You're our best shooter, can't have you passing out during a gunfight, and the way this case is going, there's going to be at least one more.”

“Any word on the bar scene?” I asked as he handed me a plate heavy with eggs and toast.

“Well, forensics is still going at it. They've been there since I called it in early this morning.”

“What time is it?”

Silver checked his watch.

“Five PM.”

“And you still made us breakfast,” I laughed, “Luna's tits you're a romantic.”

He blushed slightly. Tried to hide it, but I was perceptive.

“Anyway,” he continued as we sat down, “The shootout last night left more than enough evidence for them to trace back the gunmen at the very least, but they were probably just hired muscle. The Stranger, on the other hand, is definitely related, and probably the perpetrator of the original crime if my hunch says anything. Those were nine millies he was using; customized, too. Not guns you'd just ditch.”

“Wait wait wait,” I interrupted, “You said 'is'. You're telling me the fucker's still alive!?”

He shrugged.

“No corpse on site, so we have to assume as much. But either way, we've got a direct line to him – forensics managed to get the bullets out of the wall, back at the first crime scene, and two of the three are still in good enough shape to try ballistics fingerprinting.”

“Speaking of bullets, why aren't I in excruciating pain right now?” I asked, testing my shoulder.

“Industrial-grade painkillers; I fed you enough to knock out most elephants. Eat; you'll need your strength.”

“Yeah, because everypony knows dodging work is so exhausting,” I teased, digging in a moment later. It was delicious; a welcome break from reheated fast food. I'd have to get shot more often. I finished in a matter of seconds, but when I looked back up, Silver had left most of his food. He was staring off into space, chewing slowly.

“What's on your mind?” I asked, propping my elbows on the table. He started from his reverie.

“Oh, sorry. Just... drifting, I suppose.”

“Drifting where?”

He looked away.

“Nowhere really. Just... around.”

I frowned slightly. It wasn't like him to keep things hidden.

“You know you can talk to me, Silver.”

“I...” he met my gaze again, “Okay, look. I wouldn't normally think about telling you this, but everything that happened last night... it reminded me that we could die at any moment. But before I tell you... promise me you won't hate me.”

I nodded. I was starting to get a sense of what he was going to say.

“I promise.”

He averted his eyes again, poking around his eggs with his fork.

“I suppose that... I never really got over you. Even to this day, I wonder what it would've been like... and sitting here, with you... it makes me think about how wonderful a life together would've been.”

I felt my heart break a little bit. Even though I'd anticipated his confession, I... well, nothing could've really softened that blow.

“Oh, Silver...”

“It's okay, though. I'll be fine, I'll make sure this doesn't affect our friendship in any...”

I didn't bother thinking, I just reached across the table, grabbed his collar, pulled him close, and kissed him. It was long, passionate, and it felt... right. It was borne from emotions I'd hidden, even from myself... it was borne from love. I glanced away shyly when I finally let him go.

“I thought you only went for mares,” he laughed giddily.

“I may have made it a little more black and white than it actually was.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but the phone rang a moment later and cut him off. He picked it up.

“Silver-Gray. Yes. No. No. If you think so. Alright, I'll be there in ten minutes.”

He put down the receiver and turned back to me.

“They want me back at the station, but before I head out, I need to know... what does this mean?”

I got on my feet, and straightened his tie.

“It means that if you get hurt, I will come after you, you hear me?”

He smiled, and gently tilted up my chin until our eyes met.

“I can handle that.”

***

It was ten full hours before he came back... ten of the longest hours of my life. I'd try to read, or watch television, but I'd soon find my thoughts drifting to Silver. Where was he? Was he alright? What was happening with the case? Why hadn't he called? I spent most of my time pacing; pacing and thinking, whipping myself into a nervous frenzy. As the hours stretched, a voice in the back of my head inflated the situation to ridiculous proportions – he was hurt, no, dead, no, dead in the burning headquarters of the second precinct... Then the doorbell rang. I was at the door in moments. Sure enough, it was Silver, and unharmed... but his face was flat, deadened as he stepped inside.

“What's wrong? What happened?” I asked, locking the door behind him.

“Things went bad. Real bad,” he said as he started pacing, “Forensics is still working on the nine millimeter slugs, but they traced the casings from the bar and sent a couple of squads to bust up the joint owned by the thugs.”

“Well? Are they connected or just hired muscle?”

“We don't know.”

I frowned.

“What do you mean, we don't know?”

He met my gaze.

“Because they cut down every single officer sent to investigate.”

Shaking, I took a seat on the couch, stunned to silence.

“Yeah. That's what I said too,” he whispered dryly, sitting down next to me.

“When they brought me onto the force,” I said quietly, “They told me I'd probably never draw my weapon. That was a lie. They told me I'd never be seriously injured. That was a lie. They told me I'd never hear about another cop from my precinct getting killed. How much of that speech was complete bullshit? How far has this city fallen?”

“You know that speech was almost completely sugar,” he said.

“I know, but it used to mean something. It used to represent our ability to control and protect not only ourselves, but everypony under our jurisdiction. Let me tell you, Silver – we have lost control.”

I let my head fall into my hooves, trying to hide my tears.

“We're just an old formality; a bunch of jokes in blue jackets with expensive hats.”

“Some cops are. Most of the First and Third precinct are so corrupt they couldn't tell right from wrong if it popped out of a manhole and bit them in the arse, but... they're not you. You are the best of us, Whitefire... things are bad, especially now, but I know that when the chips are down, you'll do what's right.”

I forced a smile, and rested my head on his shoulder.

“Don't be naïve, I'm useless on my own. If it was just me against everything, you bet your ass I'd cave... that's why I'm so glad I've got you to do what's right along with me.”

His smile turned grim.

“Well... I'm not sure I'm as strong as you think.”

“Of course you are,” I whispered as I wrapped my arms around his waist, pulling him as close as he could come, “You are because I need you to be.”

We rested in silence for a few minutes, and I tried to enjoy the peace, but I couldn't stop my mind from thinking, from wondering. Were the thugs just muscle, or connected to the murders? What were the murders even about? Who was the deadly fast and ice-cold gunman? More importantly... what happened next? Would the Chief toss in the towel; take the extended opportunity to abandon the case while we still could, or would he take the opportunity to show Manehattan that the police still had a spine? Lose-fucking-lose. Give in to pressure, or pointlessly sacrifice more lives. Celestia, there wasn't even a lesser in these two evils. Despite all the consternation, however, I found myself slowly drifting off. I was on the verge of sleep when the phone rang.

“Sorry, White,” Silver-Gray muttered as he jumped to his feet and grabbed the receiver.

“Silver-Gray.”

A moment later, he started.

“...on the investigation team!? Where are you!? … Okay, hang tight. We'll be there right away. Who else? Detective Whitefire. Damn straight you should be reassured. Okay, hide somewhere and don't come out until you hear me shout 'fucking weather'. Stay safe, officer.”

He was moving almost before he put down the reciever, fetching his jacket and holsters.

“Where the hell are you going?” I asked pointedly, getting to my feet.

“We are going to pick up the only survivor from the investigation team. He's wounded, and can't risk trying to get to a police radio to contact HQ.”

He was moving too fast for me to get a good bead on him. Frustrated, I firmly planted myself between him and his next destination.

“In case your memory has failed you, we're not in the best position to be out and about right now.”

“If you're worried about your injuries, you can stay,” he continued, brushing past me without pause.

“My injuries are fine; they aren't my first. I'm worried about getting fresh bullet wounds. Lethal ones.”

“I don't think they want us dead.”

My jaw dropped.

“Feel free to explain your reasoning!” I exclaimed.

“Look. Stranger didn't kill us on sight. As a matter of fact, when you challenged him to a duel, he didn't even start to raise his pistols. You're fast, but not that fast. He didn't order his muscle to fire, they attacked of their own accord when you gunned him down. And on top of that, nopony jumped me when I went into HQ earlier today, or when I came home.”

“But... what's special about us and NOT special about the dozen dead officers!?”

“Rank. As ugly as it sounds, we are detectives and they were just beat cops. Now, are you coming or not?”

“I...” I sighed, knowing I'd lost, “I don't like this, Silver...”

He hesitated for a moment, setting down whatever he was holding. Then he turned to me, took my hooves in his, and kissed me.

“We'll be okay. I promise.”

Maybe I should've caught it then... but I didn't. I'll probably never forgive myself, but... water under the bridge, right? Either way, it wouldn't have changed the ending of this story. We made our way down to my car after I'd kitted myself out; Silver took the driver's seat as I loaded and holstered my weapons, ready for the worst. We drove most of the way in comparative silence; air rushing through the broken windows and whistling strangely in the bullet scoring left in the car's bodywork as we drove down the road through the dim moonlight, our path feebly lit by the one headlight still working.

“White, there's something I need to tell you,” Silver-Gray said after a while. I looked to him, silently encouraging him to continue. He took a deep breath, and said his piece.

“I love you. I know things are weird and new between us, but... I... I just wanted you to know, okay? Whatever happens, I love you.”

I was left momentarily speechless.

“Silver, are... are you okay? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing, just... nervous telling you. Can't say you're making it easy on me.”

My heart plummeted, my instincts screaming. Something was wrong; very wrong. The way he gripped the steering wheel; the way he focused on the street ahead...

“Silver,” I said in an almost-whisper, “I want you to pull over, and I want you to let me drive, okay?”

He ignored me, his grip tightening.

“Silver. Pull over.”

Nothing.

“Silver.”

Still nothing. I could swear I saw tears in his eyes.

“Silver, think about this... I don't know what you're about to do, but I can tell by the way it's eating at you that it's stupid. Really stupid. I know we're both very emotional right now, but don't do something you're going to regret, okay? Please, just pull over. For me?”

“I don't think you understand,” he finally replied, now clearly fighting back tears, “This is for you. I hope you can forgive me some day.”

Then he turned into an alley. As the car bumped along the uneven cobbling, I knew what I had to do. I took a shaky breath as I popped the catch on Number One's holster, but... I couldn't bring myself to draw. The breath escaped as a sigh as I secured my gun once again. It was true. When the chips were down, when it was up to me to decide between right and wrong... I was too weak to act alone. We stopped about a minute later, sitting in the middle of the empty alleyway, the engine idling.

“Get out of the car with me,” Silver said, still struggling to maintain control, “Keep your movements slow and defined. Don't do anything that could be interpreted as a threat.”

I didn't know what to think , I just obeyed. In those moments, I was a husk – an empty shell, not pausing to think or feel, just acting. The two of us stood in front of the car a moment later, an uncharacteristic chill sweeping at our backs. Then, from the shadows, stepped the Stranger.

“Silver-Gray,” he said in that deep, chilling voice I remembered so well, “Have you explained our arrangement to your compatriot?”

Silver's voice was shaking when he spoke next.

“No. I felt it was best she hear it from you.”

The Stranger nodded.

“I intercepted mister Gray as he was en route to Second Precinct Headquarters this morning, and presented him with an offer. The terms were very simple. If he would turn his considerable talents to the benefit of the Unicorn Underground, leaving the Manehattan Police, then we would spare both his life, and yours, despite your actions against us... provided you cease your personal involvement in the investigation. He assured me you would agree, and I hope he was correct – personally, I see this offer as almost overly generous.”

I had never felt so betrayed. My eyes burned with tears, and the shame made me start to feel sick. With Silver-Gray, I'd dared to imagine something better, to fantasize about a future together, a happy future. I'd trusted him with my life for years, trusted him as the one cop I knew would never turn, the one cop I knew would always stand by my side, trusted him as the friend who would always be there for me... and ultimately, trusted him with my naïve and fragile heart. I knew and understood why he'd done what he done. He'd been scared; was afraid we'd never be able to outrun the ponies I now knew as the Unicorn Underground, so he'd cut a deal. Yes, I knew and understood... but I couldn't accept. And now, with the Stranger standing in the alley before me, his weapon drawn and glinting in the pale moonlight, he'd put me in a position where I would cut a deal too, or die.

“Fine,” I choked out as I stumbled back to my car, “Fine.”

Silver-Gray started after me.

“White, wait...”

“SHUT UP!!” I screamed, “I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN, DO YOU UNDERSTAND!? NEVER!!”

And I threw the car into gear, peeling out of the alley with a squeal of tires and blazing off down the streets, empty of traffic with the night. I had no destination in mind, I just had to move, to get away from what had just happened... but I was forced to pull over soon, as I couldn't see the road for the tears. I just sat in my car and cried for what felt like hours, mourning my life, my luck, the Silver-Gray I'd known... wallowing in self-pity. I slid over to the passenger seat and popped the glove compartment; pulling out an old pack of cigarettes and a lighter. I got out of the car and leaned back against the rough brick wall as it started to rain, lighting up my first cigarette in six months and taking a long, satisfying drag. Everypony has a moment in their life where they think it's all over, where they know they'll never sink any lower, even if they manage to soldier on... this was mine. As the downpour got heavier and heavier, I took out my police badge and stared at it for a while, wondering if it meant anything anymore.

***

I was a little late in for work the next morning, given I'd spent all night crying, but I really didn't care at that point. I had this horrible feeling deep in my gut, so I just walked straight into the Chief's office, and asked him, straight up;

“How's the investigation going? Any leads?”

He averted his eyes.

“Where's Silver-Gray?”

“Otherwise occupied right now. Sir, I need an answer.”

He sighed.

“We've... decided to drop it.”

My jaw fell slack, but he picked up talking again before I could tear into him.

“This wasn't an unprompted decision, detective! The leads Forensics uncovered... we're dealing with a major player here! If all three precincts were at full operating capacity, we might risk trying something, but as things are, we'd just be setting ourselves up for a major fall. You know I'm right, Whitefire.”

I nodded.

“Yes, Sir. Of course.”

Then I unstrapped my weapons, setting them on his desk.

“I'm afraid I won't be needing these anymore.”

I stormed out of his office before he could respond, slamming through the double doors leading to the street and stopping, breathing heavily. I had nothing left – no job, no income, no friends, no lover. Nothing but a major, major grudge, and some unnatural ability with two pistols. I took one last look at my beloved police badge, before flinging it into a storm drain and getting in my battered car. There was nothing left to do but fight fire with fire. Celestia's eternal spirit have mercy on you, Stranger, because I sure as fuck won't.